Bearly Hanging On

One of the college students came by my cut the other day to talk to me. “Wv” is a guy I’ve grown quite fond of. He looks like a Rottweiler yet has a sweet, unassuming personality. When he first started in the English Comp class he was very insecure about his writing. I spent a great deal of time with him working on his essays, teaching him grammar, getting him to fully express his thoughts. He is earning an “A” in the class.



He knew I’d been hurting the last two weeks. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. It was apparent to anyone nearby that I was going through a difficult period. He came by, not to cheer me up, but to tell me he appreciated me giving so much time and energy to helping him.


It reminded me why I do what I do in here when there are days I ask God why He just couldn’t let me quit.


Something happened to me a week or so after my arrest back in August, 2008. In many ways, no matter how dark things appear, I can recall that moment and find the strength to go on. I was called to one of the Henrico Jail counselor’s offices. Ms. K was a lovely, petite, early fifties black woman. Her small office was covered in posters that said “Jesus love you”, and “God won’t ever give up on you”. I frankly didn’t feel like anyone loved me. I had given up and was sure God had also. I was three days removed from as close as I had ever come to a suicide attempt. I was a wreck.


Ms. K looked me in the eye. Her dark brown eyes were warm and comforting. She then spoke to me:


“I’m going to put you to work teaching. I’ve watched you these past few days. You look like the world’s ending. It’s not. You were put here for a reason. There are people who need you.”


She then leaned across her desk and said, “God told me to tell you that. There’s a reason for this path.”


I didn’t quite know what to make of her comments, but the next morning I trudged down the jail hallway to a GED classroom. I walked in, introduced myself to Ms. M, another fifty or so year-old black woman. I noticed twenty young black men staring at me. I felt more self conscious than I ever have in my life. The Ms. M spoke up.


“This is Mr. B. He’s going to help you guys get your GED. Now just because he’s older, white and educated, doesn’t mean you can’t learn something from him.”


She then winked at me and told me “Honey, we can use all the help we can get. You’ll do fine”. She then plopped me down next to an angry black block of granite called “Bear”.


“I call him ‘Smiley’ because he’s always in a happy mood”, Ms. M said, her voice oozing sarcasm. I sat down next to Bear and introduced myself. “I’m Larry.” He came back with “whatever cracker”, and put his head back in his math book.


Over the next few weeks, slowly at first, Bear began to open up to me. I learned he had taken and failed the GED test three times. Not yet 25, he had completed a four year bid with DOC and had been returned to the jail for six months on a misdemeanor conviction.


“I’m doin this for my gramma. She wants me to be a high school graduate.”


I actually started to like this young man and all the other young kids I was working with. As I worked with them daily and told them stories about myself they began to open up more and more. I saw how tough, how hard most of their lives had been. I also realized for most of them, no one had ever told them they could succeed. No one had ever told them they were smart.


My entire life was unraveling before my eyes. My marriage disintegrating; my name in the papers every time I’d set foot in court. The classroom, my time with Bear and the others, became my oasis.


Gradually, over the next three months Bear’s skill level improved. He was making tremendous progress. I was still a wreck, except when I was in school. And Bear’s personality changed. He smiled all the time. Guys from the class would see me heading down the jail corridors and yell out “Heh Mr. B!” It became a joke to the officers and a reason for me to smile.


On the eve of the GED test, just three months from when we began working together, I pulled Bear aside. “You know everything you need to know. You’re a smart guy, Bear. I believe in you. Now, believe in yourself.”


It takes a week to get test results in. One Friday morning I was heading down the main corridor toward school. Earlier that day I had received a letter from a dear friend at home. His wife was close to my wife. “You need to prepare for the inevitability of a divorce.” I was as down as I had been during my entire jail stay. I wondered if I had made the right decisions months earlier about even trying to survive the daily onslaught of bad news.


I looked up the hallway and saw Bear. He started quickly toward me. Suddenly, he threw his arms around me and embraced me in a tremendous bear hug.


“I passed, Mr. B! I passed!” He was as happy as I was sad. The officer on duty just smiled.


“My gramma is so happy. She said to tell you she’s prayin for you. You’re a gift from God, she said. When you get out you can come over for dinner.”


“A gift from God.” I looked at “Wv” as I finished the story. So many times during this trial I’ve felt as though my life didn’t matter. I’d hurt and betrayed the three most precious people in my life. I’d lost more than I thought was possible. I was suffering daily and felt my life was, frankly, shit.


But then there was Bear, and Ms. K, and Ms. M, and the dozens of other men I’ve tutored who have given me a reason to go on.


Things are terrible right now, as bad as they have been since I left the jail in August, 2009. But, each day gave me a chance to make a difference in Wv’s life, or someone else’s life. And right now that is enough for me to hang on to, just bearly.